Bait & Switch (Mayfield Cozy Mystery Book 1) by Jerusha Jones Page B
Authors: Jerusha Jones
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slowly. I’d already come to the same conclusion. But when Clarice barks orders in that tone, something’s irritating her.
“That urchin came back.”
“Eli?”
My comment prompted one arched brow over her shoulder and a grunt. “Has a name, does he? Squirt about scared me to death. Brought that.” Clarice jerked her head, hair and scarf toward the table.
I tiptoed into the room in my socks and picked up the small carved wood object, no bigger than a golf ball. It was a bright-eyed, perky little brown bird — maybe a sparrow? — with a round hole in its open beak and a slotted hole in the tail. A whistle. Just the type of treasure a boy would carry around, but the delicate carving had to be beyond Eli’s skill set.
“He didn’t say a word,” Clarice huffed. “But it was clearly not meant as a present for me. Those blue eyes don’t miss a thing. He was looking for you.”
I slipped the whistle’s leather thong lanyard around my neck and gave a test puff on the bird’s tail. It warbled — sweet and high and delightful.
Clarice wiped her hands on the apron and came over for a closer inspection. I held the bird out to her, and she stroked it with a tentative finger. “Beautiful,” she murmured. “Who’d have thought? I wonder where he got it?”
I’d already ruled out Walt because he was direct and unpretentious and would have given me the whistle himself if he’d wanted to. The only other person on the premises who might be capable of such craftsmanship would be the hermit. Clarice already had enough worries. I didn’t want to bother her with the tale of a reclusive man she would most likely never meet. I shrugged and let the whistle drop against my chest. I’d wear it until I could thank Eli properly.
oOo
A stairstepped group of shy, lanky boys in desperate need of haircuts and toting an assortment of brooms, mops and buckets showed up just as Clarice and I were wrapping up a feast of tuna salad on saltines complimented by V-8 juice. Next time we went shopping, I was going to handle the menu planning. I honestly don’t know how Clarice keeps her barrel-shaped figure on such meager fare.
The tallest boy, maybe fourteen or fifteen, took charge, announcing they had come to clean in a voice that cracked. He coughed into his fist and merged back into the group, blushing.
“Right ho.” Clarice zipped my paper plate away just as I lifted my last cracker. “Follow me.”
She marched through the far doorway and up a half-flight of stairs, the boys straggling after her. I took up the rear.
When we’d clustered at the end of a long, chilly room, barely lit by sunlight peeking through cracks in what appeared to be floor to ceiling drapes along one wall, Clarice leaned in like a quarterback in a huddle.
“We’ll only clean what we need,” she said. “Two bedrooms and a bathroom, plus the kitchen which I’ve nearly finished.” She turned. “You and you—” she pointed at the two biggest boys, “come with me. The rest of you start near the fireplace and work this direction.”
The young boys scrambled off as if they knew exactly what she was talking about. I followed Clarice and the taller boys up another flight of stairs. We turned a few corners and went down a short hall.
“These’ll do,” Clarice announced, pointing at two open doors opposite each other in the hall. “Pick.”
Her intent look my direction meant she was talking to me. I gestured to the right.
“Good. Let’s get these cleaned up. We can sleep on real beds tonight.”
The room was hardly bigger than my dorm room in college. It was crowded with two single beds, a nightstand with a lamp between them, a four-drawer dresser and a single ladder back chair.
“We could move out one of the beds,” ventured the tallest boy.
His eyes, with lashes as long as a girl’s, were level with mine, and I suddenly felt old — old enough to be his mother. “Good idea. What’s your name?”
“Dill.”
“Like
“That urchin came back.”
“Eli?”
My comment prompted one arched brow over her shoulder and a grunt. “Has a name, does he? Squirt about scared me to death. Brought that.” Clarice jerked her head, hair and scarf toward the table.
I tiptoed into the room in my socks and picked up the small carved wood object, no bigger than a golf ball. It was a bright-eyed, perky little brown bird — maybe a sparrow? — with a round hole in its open beak and a slotted hole in the tail. A whistle. Just the type of treasure a boy would carry around, but the delicate carving had to be beyond Eli’s skill set.
“He didn’t say a word,” Clarice huffed. “But it was clearly not meant as a present for me. Those blue eyes don’t miss a thing. He was looking for you.”
I slipped the whistle’s leather thong lanyard around my neck and gave a test puff on the bird’s tail. It warbled — sweet and high and delightful.
Clarice wiped her hands on the apron and came over for a closer inspection. I held the bird out to her, and she stroked it with a tentative finger. “Beautiful,” she murmured. “Who’d have thought? I wonder where he got it?”
I’d already ruled out Walt because he was direct and unpretentious and would have given me the whistle himself if he’d wanted to. The only other person on the premises who might be capable of such craftsmanship would be the hermit. Clarice already had enough worries. I didn’t want to bother her with the tale of a reclusive man she would most likely never meet. I shrugged and let the whistle drop against my chest. I’d wear it until I could thank Eli properly.
oOo
A stairstepped group of shy, lanky boys in desperate need of haircuts and toting an assortment of brooms, mops and buckets showed up just as Clarice and I were wrapping up a feast of tuna salad on saltines complimented by V-8 juice. Next time we went shopping, I was going to handle the menu planning. I honestly don’t know how Clarice keeps her barrel-shaped figure on such meager fare.
The tallest boy, maybe fourteen or fifteen, took charge, announcing they had come to clean in a voice that cracked. He coughed into his fist and merged back into the group, blushing.
“Right ho.” Clarice zipped my paper plate away just as I lifted my last cracker. “Follow me.”
She marched through the far doorway and up a half-flight of stairs, the boys straggling after her. I took up the rear.
When we’d clustered at the end of a long, chilly room, barely lit by sunlight peeking through cracks in what appeared to be floor to ceiling drapes along one wall, Clarice leaned in like a quarterback in a huddle.
“We’ll only clean what we need,” she said. “Two bedrooms and a bathroom, plus the kitchen which I’ve nearly finished.” She turned. “You and you—” she pointed at the two biggest boys, “come with me. The rest of you start near the fireplace and work this direction.”
The young boys scrambled off as if they knew exactly what she was talking about. I followed Clarice and the taller boys up another flight of stairs. We turned a few corners and went down a short hall.
“These’ll do,” Clarice announced, pointing at two open doors opposite each other in the hall. “Pick.”
Her intent look my direction meant she was talking to me. I gestured to the right.
“Good. Let’s get these cleaned up. We can sleep on real beds tonight.”
The room was hardly bigger than my dorm room in college. It was crowded with two single beds, a nightstand with a lamp between them, a four-drawer dresser and a single ladder back chair.
“We could move out one of the beds,” ventured the tallest boy.
His eyes, with lashes as long as a girl’s, were level with mine, and I suddenly felt old — old enough to be his mother. “Good idea. What’s your name?”
“Dill.”
“Like